


Love To Keep Me Warm

by BeepGrandCherokeeper



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cabin Fic, M/M, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21716248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeepGrandCherokeeper/pseuds/BeepGrandCherokeeper
Summary: Outside, the wind whistles audibly through the trees, not quite a storm but threatening to get there. Connor thinks about the blizzard coming sometime over the next three days and wonders when their Wi-Fi will cut out, whether the old radio they keep for emergencies will work. It’s hard not to worry — he hates heavy snowfall, let alone blizzards — but he and Hank have been in this retrofitted cabin for a little over six months, and they’ve seen and survived some intense things.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	Love To Keep Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackeyedblonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedblonde/gifts).



> Dedicated to the inimitable, wonderful @honkforhankcon on Twitter!

The first time Connor wakes, it’s to a whiskery kiss on his cheek and a whisper he doesn’t understand. He hums, eyes still closed, and feels a hand drag the bedding up higher over his chest and shoulders. The warmth lulls him back down, and when he wakes again, he’s alone, and the blankets are pulled all the way up to his eyes. Bravely, he cranes his neck so he can see farther into the dark bedroom and instantly, he retreats again, covering his nose with a hand. It’s freezing.

Outside, the wind whistles audibly through the trees, not quite a storm but threatening to get there. Connor thinks about the blizzard coming sometime over the next three days and wonders when their Wi-Fi will cut out, whether the old radio they keep for emergencies will work. It’s hard not to worry — he hates heavy snowfall, let alone blizzards — but he and Hank have been in this retrofitted cabin for a little over six months, and they’ve seen and survived some intense things. Connor swears up and down that the bear attempting to help himself to their trash over the summer stalked their yard for days after, hoping to find a way inside.

Shuffling over to the edge of the bed, Connor pokes his toes out and searches blindly for his slippers. Once he finds them, he rolls to plant his feet on the floor and gathers up one of the heaviest blankets, drawing it around his shoulders like a cloak. He drags it off the bed and shuffles his way to the standing mirror. His body is a shapeless lump under its covering, so he narrows his focus to his face. Dark circles make an unflattering complement to his early morning look, and his hair is a mess, but he only spares his appearance a passing thought before he shuffles off again, looking for Hank.

His husband is outside, unfortunately. Connor catches sight of Hank through a front window, wrapped up in his warmest clothes with a scarf around his face. He’s carrying a hammer, and he pounds at the external shutters with such focus that he doesn’t see Connor watching.

Connor heads instead for the kitchen. The pot of instant coffee is already hours old, but it’s nothing their microwave can’t fix. Within a few minutes, he’s perched himself on the edge of their little table, blanket and all, and he cradles the mug close to his chest.

Their front door opens and shuts, the bells Connor hung from the door handle jingling merrily.

“Good morning,” Connor calls, his voice rasping a little with morning disuse. “I’m in here.”

Mentally, Connor tracks Hank’s progress — snowy boots left by the door, his coat and scarf in the closet, and as he walks into the kitchen, right on schedule, he’s pulling off his gloves finger by finger. It’s exactly how Connor pictured. He can’t keep the smile from his face, or the tender warmth from curling deep in his belly.

Hank sees it. He smiles in turn, tosses his gloves on the table, and looks at Connor from head to toe before he speaks.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m getting warmer,” Connor says. He gestures with the mug in his hands. “What has you so busy that you needed to get up without me?”

Hank retrieves his own mug sitting near the sink and performs the same ritual as Connor had, pouring coffee and putting it in the microwave. He puts the used grounds into the composting bin and replaces them, and as he moves around the kitchen, he talks. “We still have some time before the blizzard hits. I wanted to get everything taken care of so we can settle in. You looked cute, sleeping like you were. I didn’t want to wake you just to go tromping around in the snow with me.”

“What did you do?”

“Just about everything, I think. Secured all the shutters, double checked our wood stockpile, made contact with some of the neighbors. Sumo’s out in the dog run.” Hank pops open the microwave door on the second beep. He leans against the countertop, holds out his mug in one hand, and waits for Connor to tap it with his own before he takes a drink. “I set up papers for him in the laundry room, but I figured he’d like a little fun before we all get shut up.”

The wind abruptly picks up, a moan that pitches itself into something a few steps below a wail. That wind will bring them snow, soon enough, piled up around their doors, keeping them inside. Trapped. Isolated.

Connor drains the rest of his coffee and sets the mug on the table next to Hank’s gloves. He wraps his arms tighter around himself, hoping the blanket will keep his newfound warmth from escaping. In a few moments, the wind goes quiet again, and the tension leaves him like water dripping down his spine.

Hank catches it, anyway, just like he catches most things. His mouth quirks in a lopsided, sympathetic, knowing smile.

Connor pouts reflexively. He doesn’t like being known.

“I could have helped,” he says.

“Sure.” Hank shrugs. “I didn’t want you to. I wanted you to sleep.”

“You didn’t want me out in the snow with you.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Connor turns his head. Hank’s already shuttered the kitchen windows, so he stares at the wall and pretends it’s particularly interesting today. “I’m not fragile,” he says, feeling uncomfortably self-conscious. “I can work on our house, same as you. Storm or no storm.”

Hank puts his own mug aside. Connor hears it clink against the counter. When he looks, he wishes he hadn’t — Hank’s eyes are soft, fond, and he pushes himself up to cross the few short steps and stand in front of Connor.

“If I’d asked you,” Hank says, putting one hand on Connor’s shoulder, “I know you would have been right there with me. I just…” He sighs. “I was just trying to be good to you, I guess. I know it bothers you, and that’s fine. Figured you could take the morning and rest, and then we’d have a few days all to ourselves. And Sumo. Can’t forget him.”

Connor looks down at the broad hand on his shoulder. Hank has workman’s fingers, rough and thick, wider than Connor’s thin, fine-boned ones. They’re warmer, too, from the gloves and from whatever heat Hank carries around inside him. He’s always warm.

Shrugging Hank off, Connor meets his husband’s wounded expression with a new smile and his arms, outspread, welcoming Hank into the cocoon he’s made for himself. Hank huffs a quick laugh and sneaks his arms across Connor’s ribs, his palms streaking their way over his bare skin and leaving what feels like scorch marks behind.

“Didn’t realize you were naked,” Hank rumbles into Connor’s shoulder. He punctuates it with a kiss, chapped lips brushing a cluster of freckles at the edge of his collarbone.

“I’m not naked,” Connor shoots back. He wraps his arms around Hank’s shoulders, folding the blanket around them both. “I’m in my slippers.”

They stay like that for a little while, enjoying the quiet and the closeness. Before Hank pulls away to rescue Sumo from being alone the snow, Connor whispers an apology right into the shell of his ear. Hank takes Connor’s chin and tips his head so he can kiss it off of his tongue.

Connor spends the rest of the morning working on his manuscript. It isn’t quite finished, but he’ll have plenty of time to tinker with it over his forced vacation — if he isn’t busy with Hank.

He hears it when Sumo comes inside, the jingling bells and the heavy boots and the noisy panting. Expecting them both to come down the hallway toward him, he’s surprised when Hank walks through the door by himself and pushes it shut, no dog in sight.

“Wore himself out,” Hank says, answering his unspoken question. “Comfortable?”

Connor performatively glances down at their bed, covered in notebooks and Post-its, a disheveled nest with a pile of blankets, his laptop, and himself in the center. “I think so.”

Hank shakes his head. “You in a place to stop for a bit?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says. As he speaks, holding Hank’s gaze, he slowly pushes the notebooks with a hand. They tumble to the floor. “I’m awfully busy.”

**Author's Note:**

> _My heart's on fire  
>  The flame grows higher  
> So I will weather the storm  
> Why do I care how much it may storm  
> I've got my love to keep me warm_


End file.
